Quiet
by alaricnomad
Summary: Literati. S3, a first time fic. "She felt the weight of his gaze boring into her, raising innocent eyes to meet his, widening and then darkening with recognition to his intent." ONESHOT.


**A/N: My first Gilmore Girls fic. I've wanted to write one for the longest time, but I can never seem to master the wit and banter that so makes up most of the show's conversation. So…I'm trying something a little more narrative. **

**-Quiet-**

The words 'I love you' were something foreign in Jess Mariano's life. There had been no father to give them, nor had they ever fallen from his mother's lips; though Luke showed it from time-to-time, being comfortable with emotional displays wasn't a trait Danes men shared. But the love Rory had for him shone through every time she looked at him, in eyes more blue than the sky or the sea or sapphires. It was there every time she kissed him, touched him, or hugged him. Though he wished he could say them, dispel her fears to do the same by giving her the words, they always caught in his throat. He could only hope she could read those feelings in him, even in his quiet.

That love manifested in passion- the strong sort of passion where the chemistry ignited like fire between them, coursing like molten flame through their veins whenever flesh touched upon flesh. It scared her, he knew, for it was so beyond the realm of anything she had ever known before in her sheltered, small-town world. But she trusted him, as he took his time with her, never pushed her, while still sheltering the beautiful, passionate spirit she'd hidden for so long under the narrow mold she was raised in.

That fateful afternoon, they sat together casually on his bed, looking together through a book they both enjoyed, and she was so close, so tantalizingly close that he felt the warmth radiating from her body, watched her chest rise and fall with each soft breath. His eyes were on her more than the book. He didn't have to say the words, those words that would have brought up every tension and attraction between them they had always left unspoken. She felt the weight of his gaze boring into her, raising innocent eyes to meet his, widening and then darkening with recognition to his intent.

He had been right, of that fact he was sure, that she felt that same powerful, soul-shaking desire that moved him, tormented him from the inside out, tore him apart every time he saw her and then knit back together with every casual touch, a hand on his shoulder, a brush of her fingers against his. She was afraid, she was so afraid, of the unknown, and he knew her fear- smelled it, tasted it, felt it- in the single tear that fell silently from her, in the wordless plea in her eyes.

"It's okay," he whispered to her as he finally cupped her face in his hands and pulled her mouth to his.

That kiss, that kiss was earth-shattering, like being caught in the middle of a typhoon, the emotion raging through him, hot and nearly unbearable. It was a lightning strike in his awareness, lighting every part of him on fire, consumed by a flame that proved unquenchable. He felt her response, her surrender at first contact, and he knew she felt it too, that profound, shaking feeling that overwhelmed every sense and sharpened the hunger awakening inside.

Kisses, touches, clothes were shed, and sinking back against the mattress, they reached the point of no return, crossing over without hesitation.

Making love, Rory decided, was most like a dance. That was something beautiful about the whole culmination that she had never considered before Jess, something about the deeper meaning behind the act, the feeling that drove those involved that she had never felt before him. He was an expert dance partner, guiding her through each step and move.

It wasn't just about the physical response, or seeing the naked body of her lover; it was all in his eyes, and in his touch. His eyes, soft and loving, wanting her, needing her, wanting to please her, wanting to touch her, wanting to love her, and his touch, gentle and delicate, tender yet wanting, his hands burning against her skin, enflaming a longing, a hunger for something she had never before experienced. He was gentle with her, but at the same time, he wasn't hesitant. He didn't treat her like she was made of glass; he touched her with expertise, tender but confident.

Their interactions, a strange seduction, a slow, sensual foreplay, every brush of hand, every smoldering glance, every exploration of mouth and stroke of tongue, every kiss and caress. And it felt good, it felt so good, and he made her body sing, awash with overbearing sensation. Their bodies moved together, with a rhythm and grace that eluded them beyond the bedroom. In those moments, there were no whispered lies and false promises, no aching fear or half-formed truths, to disrupt their joining. It was incredible, like nothing she could ever describe in words, in those moments when their fingers enlaced and rested against the pillow behind her head as he finally slipped inside her.

It didn't hurt as much as she thought it would, having him inside her. The stories she had heard had her expecting the feeling of being torn apart; instead it was a sharp pain, an uncomfortable stretching and a handful of tears. He had wiped them away, petting her hair, kissing her neck and cheek and shoulder in sweet apology. It was a strange feeling of fullness, and a dawning realization that the man she loved was indeed inside her, one with her. She smiled softly, cupping his face as she gave her nod of consent.

And she felt as though she could melt against him, the heat of him sinking into her, playing her body like a finely-tuned instrument. She ran her hands over him, his skin like smooth velvet pulled over sleek muscle. His body was sinewy but strong, powerful in his masculinity, Rory feeling the ripples through taut muscles as he moved over her.

Something was building- hot and intense, molten fire she couldn't control or deny; not that she would really want to. She hoped he was feeling much the same, if his groans and murmurs of her name against her skin were any indication.

"Jesse."

There had been one afternoon when Rory had dug through his wallet for cash to pay the delivery man, she had come across his driver's license. After she had gotten through her humor over 'Jesse Lucas Mariano' vs. his 'James Dean' persona, her use of 'Jesse' took on a sort of special occasion. She only called him by his full name in times of passion, or moments of intensity. He'd heard it before; at times when her tears fell and she clung to him for safety and strength, times when he invaded her innocence and touched her in ways no man ever had before. And now as he was taking that intimacy to its final destination, the name fell from her lips like a mantra prayer.

"Jess, Jess, Jesse!" she cried out to him, nearly sobbing at this thing starting to overtake her, scary in its foreignness but seductive in its urgency. He whispered to her reassuringly, peppering kisses against her cheek as he adjusted his angle, neither taking her quickly nor teasing with slow rocking. Long, deep strokes to steadily stoke the fire inside her and her breath came out panting, fingers clawing at his back as that strange, wonderful thing she was feeling finally came to its culmination. An explosion- that was the only way she could describe it, like a lightening crash or the blaze of an inferno, it overtook her with frightening possession.

And his turn came, his world turned upside down as much as hers was. He surrendered and as he released inside her, his head thrown back and her name torn as a muffled scream from his lips, she felt something close to completion. He was beautiful, and he was hers.

His weight was heavy but welcome against her, body curved tiredly onto her own. She ran her fingers through his hair, tangling them in his sweat-damp curls. She kissed his temple and whispered to him tenderly, "I love you."

He stiffened and took in a deep breath, letting it out in a rush as if to release something tense and coiled inside of him. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, reaching out to grasp her hand. They met and their fingers entwined. "Thank you," he muttered against her skin.

She nodded, saying nothing more as she stroked his hair. Jess lay languidly in her embrace, both of them content with the silence.


End file.
